


Hard and Fast

by RainbowLookingGlass



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: ASL, Autistic Jack, Fluff, Improper binder use, Like really mild but still, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Chowder, Trans Eric "Bitty" Bittle, hard of hearing character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 00:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10348830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowLookingGlass/pseuds/RainbowLookingGlass
Summary: Bitty enjoyed making friends in his classes, it was something he did often. He'd never expected to get more than a simple friendship out of it, but he certainly wasn't complaining.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to for-you-and-bits (angryspaceravenclaw on here) for literally all the info I have on sign language and the Deaf community as well as helping out with French and beta-ing to make sure I did it all right. So basically carrying this fic haha. 
> 
> Also, a note. A ton of trans masculine people will wear binders for far longer than they should, but please please try to limit binding to 8 hours a day with a proper, well-fitting binder. It's extremely important and you can really injure yourself if you're not careful.

Bitty glanced around the room. He wasn't late, but it was a near thing, cleaning up after his pie having taken longer than he'd expected. The only seat left was next to a very large, dark haired guy who almost looked like he was glaring at his notebook as he doodled in the margins. He didn't look particularly friendly, but looks could be deceiving and Bitty had promised himself he'd make a friend in each of his classes this semester.

 

He strode over, smile in place, and sat in the seat, giving the stranger a warm smile. “Hi there!” he greeted him, the man seemingly startled. “I'm Eric, or most people call me Bitty.”

 

“...I'm Jack,” the man introduced himself slowly, looking a bit puzzled. Bitty had come to expect a bit of that from northerners, though Jack’s accent was one he hadn't heard before.

 

“Nice to meet you, Jack. This class looks so interesting doesn't it? I think I'm going to be an American Culture Studies major, I think this class will decide it for me. What major are you?” Jack looked surprised, Bitty wasn't sure if it was as Bitty's talking or the fact that he clearly wasn't a senior in a senior seminar.

 

“History. This will be a nice change of pace from war,” he answered, his voice a monotone.

 

“Oh, I'm sure! War is certainly interesting, but can get depressing after a while. I took a class on the Civil War last semester, and I swear I had to bake a pie after every lecture to cheer myself up, all those tragedies. Not that my roommates were complaining, mind you,” he opened his mouth to say more, but professor Atley chose that moment to start class, so he just smiled and reached for his notebook.

 

Bitty was feeling really good. He'd convinced Jack to exchange numbers at the end of class, a combination of enthusiastic participation and a perfect pie had convinced Dr. Atley to let him into the food seminar, and one of his roommates let him know that the school's ice rink was having an early-morning free skate that he had the time to go to. He was a little bit early, he realized as he finished lacing up his skates, but it was 7 AM on a Sunday. He really doubted anyone would mind.

* * *

 

Bitty was surprised to find two other people already on the ice when he stepped out. There were two people, seemingly together; someone in full hockey goalie gear and someone taking shots at them. At the sound of skates on the ice they both turned, and Bitty got a good look at the not-goalie’s face.

 

“Jack!” he called out, skating over to the pair. “I didn't expect to see you here! Do you play hockey?” Jack stared down at him, dumbfounded, and it would’ve made Bitty uncomfortable if it weren't for the goalie’s giggling.

 

“I’m the captain of the hockey team,” Jack told him, deadpan, as the goalie’s giggles got louder. “This is Chowder--Chris Chow--our new starting goalie. Morning free skate is usually empty, so we were just doing some drills.”

 

“Oh! That’s great, you must be so talented. Well, if y’all don’t mind I can just take the end of the rink there, I won’t be in your way at all. It was good to meet you, Chowder!” Bitty said, waving a bit as he skated backwards towards what was now his end of the rink. Truth be told, he felt a bit self conscious skating in front of the boys like this. He knew that the sports bra and tank top under the sweatshirt he was wearing was enough to make him look flat after what the T had done for him, and he had done figure skating with enough men to know the sport wasn’t necessarily feminine. But he also knew how most of the world was about things like that, especially men in contact sports, so it was hard to shake the little bit of fear in the back of his mind. Paying it no attention, he stretched and warmed up, doing a couple half laps around the rink. He spent some time just wandering around the ice a bit, reveling in the feel of gliding and the cold against his cheeks. He zoned out, thinking about nothing in particular, until he heard a particularly loud smack and laughing from the far side. He shook his head a bit to clear it, smiling and deciding to show off a little. He did a few different spins, at one point lifting his skate almost directly above his head and thanking the lord he’d kept up with his stretches. He ended it with a relatively simple jump--he didn’t want to hurt himself--and as he skated to the side he heard clapping.

 

“That was so cool!” Chowder enthused, his goalie mask and gloves off. Jack was smiling softly.

 

“Well thank you!” Bitty called back, skating over. “I was a competitive figure skater back in high school. I was pretty good, if I say so myself, but I gave it up when I came to college. I still like to goof around sometimes, though,” he told them. Jack nodded.

 

“It’s impressive. You’re talented,” Jack said. Bitty felt a bit of a flush that has nothing to do with exertion or the cold. “We were about to shower up and go to breakfast. You’re welcome to join us.”

 

Bitty froze for a second. He wasn’t out, wasn’t ready to come out to these guys, as lovely as they seemed. “Oh, uh, I…” the excuse came to him suddenly. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes with me, and not all of us have our own lockers here,” he teased them. “My dorm is real close, I’ll just stop by there for a quick shower and to drop my stuff off, and I’ll meet you guys in the dining hall in about thirty?” They agreed and went their separate ways, Bitty with a distinct warmth in his chest.

* * *

 

Bitty was honestly kind of amazed at how quickly it all happened.

 

Breakfast with Jack and Chowder turned into breakfast with the entire Samwell Men’s Hockey team. Nobody questioned when Chowder introduced Bitty as “Our new friend!” They just pulled up an extra chair and absorbed him into the conversation effortlessly, Jack quietly providing context for any topics or stories that Bitty wasn't familiar with. It was overwhelming, but fun, and Bitty was amazed at how welcome and comfortable he felt.

 

Comfortable enough to complain to them about the early closing times and perpetual crowded nature of the student kitchens.

 

“Bro!” said the largest of them- Bitty was pretty sure his name was Holster- gasped dramatically, hand to his chest. “Do you mean to tell me that you can _cook_?”

 

“Well I mean, I can cook pretty well, yes. But my specialty is baking, really. Pies especially. Not that I get to much, there always seems to be someone in the kitchens attempting to make something edible, bless their hearts,” Bitty replied. Holster looked over at the guy Bitty thought was named something with an R, sharing some sort of silent communication before both turned on Bitty, eyes intense and hungry looking. Bitty squirmed a bit.

 

“Bro, we have a kitchen. A kitchen we barely use. A kitchen that's accessible 24/7 and would be more than happy to house any and all food assembly,” the smaller of the two told him. Holster nodded enthusiastically.

“Ransom and I also volunteer for taste testing or food removal services,” Holster added, Ransom nodding enthusiastically next to him. Bitty stared at them, dumbfounded.

 

“Oh, well I… I don't want to intrude, or get in anyone's way, Lord knows I bake at some odd times and really, it's not my place,” Bitty stammered, half mumbling. Ransom looked a bit puzzled, and Holster nudged him and twisted his fingers into unfamiliar shapes when Ransom looked over. Bitty was about to ask when he heard Jack's voice in his ear.

 

“Ransom is hard of hearing. His beanie is covering his hearing aids right now so you can't see them. Most of the team knows a bit of ASL, and everyone in the Haus has taken classes so we can communicate when Ransom doesn't want to wear his aids. Usually Ransom can hear fine with his aids and no background noise but Holster generally just translates when we're somewhere loud like this and Ransom can't catch something, it's easier. Speak clearly and just a bit louder, eh?” Bitty nodded to him and turned back to Ransom and Holster.

 

“Bro, I like, don't sleep. And none of us cook. You can be in there literally whenever and you won't bother us. Like, just give us some of what you make and it'll be more than even,” Ransom practically begged. Bitty sighed and told him that they should at least taste his baking before they agreed to a deal like that. Even though he knew hungry young athletes would love anything he made.

 

And they did, when they wheedled and annoyed Bitty into coming over and baking. The manner in which they decimated that pecan pie almost made Bitty swear off coming back altogether. But the promise of a kitchen to himself whenever he wanted it was too good to pass up.

 

He started with coming over very rarely, and only during hours he knew wouldn't be a bother. He was quick and quiet and thanked whoever was there profusely for letting him be there. It was nearly a month of this when Shitty one day burst into the kitchen, yelling Bitty’s name. He jumped, hand to his heart, turning to tell Shitty not to startle him like that when something small was thrust into his hand.

 

“A key to the Haus, brah. You don't seem like you're gonna kill us in our sleep or some shit and seriously, you gotta stop with this whole worrying thing. Our Haus is your Haus, bake whenever the fuck you want however often you want. We want you comfortable here, man.” Shitty told him. Bitty nearly cried on the spot, but managed to hold it together as he hugged Shitty and thanked him. Slowly, Bitty took the words to heart. He started dropping by more often, and slightly odder hours. He baked more things in one sitting, played Beyonce and danced as he worked. One night, when he was having a particularly hard time sleeping, he came over and used his key at one in the morning. He was halfway through a batch of brownies when the door to the kitchen swung open. Random shuffled in, eyes heavy and shoulders slouched. He gently patted Bitty on the head on his way to the cabinet, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

 

“Oh, Ransom! I hope you don’t mind me bein’ in here, I couldn’t sleep and figured y’all might like some brownies to take to class, though knowing you boys you’ll probably try to call them breakfast. If Chowder complains to me one more time about Jack scolding y’all for improper breakfast, I swear, I’m going to get a safe just for baked goods and only allow you guys treats during appropriate--” as he rambled Ransom turned back around, saw Bitty’s lips moving, and held up a hand to stop him.

 

“Can’t hear you, bro. Have fun baking, gonna go study more,” he said quietly, patting Bitty on the head again on his way out. Bitty felt his cheeks heat up, and as soon as the brownies were in the oven, he pulled out his phone and googled _how to learn sign language._

 

After that he was in the Haus almost every day. He watched youtube videos of signing, following along, and thought he was doing pretty well with it. The boys started doing their homework in the kitchen and keeping Bitty company, especially Jack, Chowder, and Shitty. It was a while before it was Ransom at the counter, going over flashcards while Bitty mixed a filling that would become a peach pie and prattled about things.

 

“So that’s how I learned how to curse in Russian so creatively. Oh, speaking of, I’ve started learning ASL, I figure if I’m going to be around so often I ought to be able to talk with you if you don’t want your aids in. I was hoping you’d maybe practice with me?” Bitty asked. He looked up to see Ransom eyeing him a bit warily.

 

“That’s great Bits, and obviously I appreciate the effort, but how exactly are you learning?” he asked.

 

“Well, youtube videos. I think I’ve got a lot of the basics down. Jack was saying something about the boys taking classes? I’m taking French right now but maybe next semester I could do ASL,” he mused, but Ransom shook his head.

 

“Those ‘classes’ were actually Jack’s dad discovering that sign was my first language and what I prefer to communicate in without aids and in loud areas, and hiring a tutor from Boston to come teach any guys who wanted to learn once a week. He did that for a year, and Jack and Holster each took extra classes on their own during the summer. They’re both nearly fluent, and most of the guys on the team and Lardo are varying levels of competent. Listen, if you’re gonna do the youtube thing, Holster and I have, like, combed youtube for all the best shit. Stay right here.” He scrambled out of the kitchen and reappeared a few minutes later, laptop in hand. He patiently waited for Bitty to finish the pie and get it in the oven before navigating through a complex series of folders, opening up an Excel spreadsheet. Ransom showed Bitty how to navigate it. It was organized by level of proficiency, then within that by grammar and vocab, and showed each youtuber’s name, URL, and if they were d/Deaf, CoDA, or a fluent translator. It almost made Bitty’s head spin, but Ransom showed him some of the videos and how he knew they were good at what they did, and Bitty really could tell a difference between these people and the ones he’d been watching. Together they came up with a lesson plan of sorts, Ransom promising to answer any questions Bitty had and to practice with him so he could learn properly. They went over some of the stuff Bitty knew, Ransom adjusting Bitty’s signs, when Jack walked into the kitchen.

 

“Hey, Eric. Oh, sign language. Good,” he grabbed a protein shake from the fridge, nodded at Ransom, and left the kitchen again. Bitty looked after him for a minute before bursting into giggles.

 

“Is he always so…?”  


“Awkward?” Ransom finished for him, chuckling too. “Yeah, pretty much. He’s worse around new people, but we chirp him for the way he says things all the time.”

 

“Chirp?” Bitty asked, confused. Ransom just stared at him.

 

“I forget you don’t know shit about hockey. Holster and I will have to fix that someday,” he said before turning their attention back to sign. Eventually Chowder joined them, and then Holster, and it somehow turned into a wrestling match that Bitty extricated himself from, laughing.

* * *

 

Exams, as usual, slammed Bitty straight off his feet. His baking decreased in complexity and increased in frequency with his stress. One night Chowder came home to find Bitty on his third batch of cookies of the day.

 

“Hey, Bitty. I was about to go to the library, wanna come with? You have that paper, don’t you?” Chowder asked, grabbing a cookie off the cooling rack. Bitty considered. His back was aching, and he was tired, but Chowder was right about having a paper due and he did have his stuff with him. He agreed, finishing his baking quickly before grabbing his backpack and jacket and heading out with Chowder. They settled into a nice quiet corner, getting to work in amicable silence. Bitty actually had a good start on his paper, and got a pretty good rhythm going quickly. After about an hour and a half, though, the ache in his back was worse and his shoulders were hurting too. He found himself stopping typing more and more often to move, and doing more and more obvious stretches. He knew spending 12 hours in his binder wasn’t a good idea, but he just hadn’t had the time to change out of it. At some point, even Chowder noticed.

 

“You okay there?” he asked, getting another textbook out. Bitty winced internally.

 

“Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just some knots in my shoulders, you know,” he replied easily. He wondered how much longer he had to stay before he could reasonably duck out. Chowder looked at him pensively.

 

“Yeah, I feel. Sometimes my binder makes my back hurt so bad, I have to get Nursey to rub it for me. He’s really good at it,” Chowder said, almost too casually. Bitty swallowed, not allowing himself to react outwardly. He knew what a huge gesture this was, recognized it as an invitation. He took a deep breath before replying.

 

“I completely forgot I was wearing mine, it’s been like twelve hours,” he said, laughing nervously a bit. Chowder’s eyes widened.

 

“Bitty, that’s, like, so not good,” he said hurriedly, closing the textbook he’d taken out. “Come on, the Haus is closer, I’ve got some sports bras that’ll probably fit you. You can borrow one.” Bitty wanted to argue, but really the idea of getting the hell out of his binder was too good to pass up. He packed up his laptop and they headed out together into the brisk night air. They walked in silence for a minute before Chowder nudged Bitty.

 

“Are you out?” he asked quietly. “Cause like, I’m out to the boys. We share a locker room, you know? And they’re all super cool about it. I was worried but they’ve never treated me like anything other than, well, a bro. So if you’re not out to them and you wanna be, you know, they’d be fine with it, promise.” Bitty smiled gently.

 

“I’m not out to them. Or much at all, really. It’s… well, some people know I’m gay, and sometimes people take that less seriously if they know I’m trans too. Or you know, just don’t take it well in general. It’s better here, I’m out to a handful of people, but…” he trailed off. But where he grew up it was dangerous. But when he went on T as soon as he graduated high school he hid in his house the minute he started noticing changes. But he knew his mama cried at night because of the whispers she heard at the market and after church. Chowder just nodded in understanding, walking the rest of the way with Bitty in silence. When they got back to the Haus Chowder brought Bitty upstairs, ducking into the room he shared with Lardo to grab a nondescript black sports bra and shoving it into Bitty’s hands. He pointed Bitty towards the bathroom, where Bitty wriggled out of his binder and got the sports bra on. It was a tiny bit big on him, and he was lamenting how his chest looked in it under his thin sweater when he heard a banging on the door. He jumped, his heart leaping into his throat. After a quick second of indecision he realized he couldn’t just hide in the bathroom forever. Setting his jaw, he stuffed his binder into his bag and opened the door. Lardo was standing outside, and appraised him silently.

 

“Sup. You can ask Chowder for a hoodie. Move,” she said simply, pushing him out of the way. Bitty moved easily, a bit dumbfounded by the interaction. He shook his head a bit before going off to ask Chowder for something a bit baggier to wear before any of the others saw him.

* * *

 

Bitty mulled over what Chowder had said for several weeks before a decent opportunity arose. He was with Ransom, Holster, Shitty, and Lardo. Shitty and Lardo were coming down while watching Ransom and Holster tried to teach Bitty the finer points of Mario Kart, when the topic of Winter Screw came up. After several minutes of the boys pestering Bitty about his type of girl, he finally took a deep breath.

 

“Well, you see, I wasn’t actively keeping it from you or anything. You know y’all are like brothers to me and I trust you with anything. I was just kinda nervous I guess, but the thing is I, um. I’m gay,” Bitty said, slightly rushed. Ransom and Holster barely even paused.

 

“Okay, new spreadsheet,” Ransom declared, exiting out of one Excel and pulling up another. They started chattering away again, until Bitty cleared his throat.

 

“Listen, it’s not that I don’t trust you two, but… I don’t do blind dates or random hookups. It’s not really a good idea for me,” he explained hesitantly. At their protest he glared, shutting them up. “I’m transgender. And I know, Samwell, people here take it better than most. But especially if you set me up with a gay guy, some people just don’t… react well, to finding out they’re on a date with a trans dude. I really just prefer to only go out with people that I know well and trust. Okay?” Ransom and Holster both looked a little surprised, but nodded, apologizing and agreeing. Shitty looked up from his conversation with Lardo.

 

“Good to know, brah. Glad you felt like you could tell us,” he said. Lardo nodded, concentrating on attempting to braid Shitty’s hair.

 

“Probably good for you to know that I’m genderfluid,” Lardo told him, still not looking. “I’m like, super indifferent on pronouns. Shitty thinks it’s fun to switch between them, Jack usually uses they/them or avoids them, all the rest use a mix of whatever they want. You can do whatever. I don’t hide it.”

 

“I, uh, do,” Bitty admitted, looking down. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone. Only you guys and Chowder know, I’m stealth everywhere else. And I’d like to be able to tell Jack myself. Thank you for letting me know, Lardo.” They all agreed to keep quiet, and returned to Mario Kart, Ransom and Holster wasting no time in placing bets on wins, the conversation seemingly forgotten.

* * *

 

Coming out to Jack turned out to be more difficult than Bitty had anticipated.

 

Every week they sat next to each other in class, talked and laughed while Bitty baked, skated together at the morning free skate on Sunday when Jack had some drills he wanted to run with a teammate.  Bitty had fun with him, appreciated his dry sense of humor and how intently he listened. Bitty was named official referee of all Jack/Shitty wrestling matches he witnessed. Jack chirped him (a term Ransom and Holster introduced him to) for using Twitter all the time, and Bitty chirped him back for his music tastes. They were friends. Bitty liked Jack.

 

But every time he went to tell Jack that he was gay and trans, he felt choked up. It was clear that Jack loved Chowder, who was out. He was intense on the ice and could become a bit abrasive when the team wasn’t doing well, but had always been nice to Bitty. And yet, coming out just seemed far too daunting to actually go through with. It was making him feel guilty, like he was actively hiding something he’d told all of Jack’s closest friends but not him. Bitty knew he had no obligation to come out, but it still felt unfair.

 

He pondered this as he set his camera up in the kitchen. He’d been practicing sign for weeks now, and was getting to the point where he could get ideas across, so Ransom and Holster had decided it was time he understood hockey, complete with the proper signs associated. Bitty had made a joke about his viewers loving it, and, well. Ransom was nothing if not persistent. They had already taken footage of Ransom and Holster demonstrating different hockey things, and now Bitty and Ransom were going to do the explanations totally in sign. Bitty would split the screen so both were showing and put captions on so his followers could follow along. Bitty and Ransom had already gone over the script and Bitty felt confident he wouldn’t mess this up. Too badly, at least.

 

He collected Ransom and started the camera. “Hey, y’all!” he said cheerfully. “We’re going to do something a little different today. My friend Ransom here is hard of hearing and fluent in sign, and has been kind enough to teach me the basics. We thought you guys might like to learn a bit about hockey, and maybe some sign while we’re doing it. So the rest of this video will be just in sign, and I’ll caption the whole thing.” Ransom jumped in at that point, introducing himself. Bitty was impressed at how well he was recognizing the signs at this point. They got through most of the video, playing the demonstrations on Bitty’s laptop, with minimal messing up but plenty of laughter. They were most of the way done when Jack walked into the kitchen, startling at the two of them with the camera. Ransom lit up, signing something to the camera that Bitty didn’t understand, but included the word “captain”, and waved him over. Jack looked bemused but obliged, and Ransom caught him up quickly. Ransom turned to Bitty gleefully.

 

“He’s gonna do it with us,” he told Bitty, moving over as Jack dragged up a chair. Bitty knew that he would likely be lost of a lot of the rest of the video, but he couldn’t help but be excited right along with Ransom. Bitty took a deep breath, smiled at Jack, and began his next part of the script talking about chirping.

 

Jack ended up being much easier to understand than Ransom. Ransom, as a native signer, tended to sign quickly and sometimes use shorthand or slang that Bitty didn’t have a hope of catching. He slowed it down for Bitty but would often forget and start speeding up again. Jack had gotten plenty of practice with Ransom, but had still learned in a class. His signs were slower, more precise, and he signed much more formally. Bitty still didn’t get a lot of what he was saying, but Bitty realized Jack was more expressive than he’d never seen him. He smirked when he chirped Ransom for tripping over nothing in the video. He looked pensive and serious when he had to think about how to describe a hockey term, and Bitty thought he would melt at the bright smile he got when Jack praised his progress in both signing and hockey knowledge. The video with Ransom had been fun, but adding Jack in added a whole new layer, bringing more laughter and more roughhousing and a warmth in Bitty’s chest, though that seemed to always be there when Jack was involved and-

 

Oh.

 

It hit Bitty all at once, when Jack gave him a particularly fond look as Bitty managed to execute a poor chirp about them being children. The warmth bloomed and filled him, butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to touch, to hug Jack or sit in his lap or maybe even kiss him.

 

He was fucked. It was just like him to develop a crush on a straight boy.

 

He managed to get through the rest of the video, laugh with the boys about it a bit, and pack up his things to head back to the dorm, claiming he needed to get everything edited so he could keep his posting schedule. He sincerely hoped Jack didn’t notice his blush when he clapped Bitty on the shoulder as they said goodbye.

* * *

 

Bitty refused to let his crush get in the way of spending time with Jack. They kept up their routine as normal, Bitty falling for him more and more with each interaction. And he found that the more they hung out, adding post-class coffee runs to their normal, the harder it was to know that Jack didn’t know such important things about him. He realized just how strong the fear of rejection was when it came to Jack, but the pain of hiding was becoming stronger day by day.

 

They were at Annie’s, Jack in line while Bitty found a place to sit, when Bitty decided to go for it. He found a relatively secluded booth and slid into it, trying desperately to quiet his nerves. Several minutes later Jack slid in across from him, passing over one of the oversized mugs. Bitty tried to give him some money, but as usual Jack waved it away. “I think I’m good for it, Eric,” he said. Bitty finally conceded,  putting the cash away and shaking his head a bit. He stirred his coffee idly, trying to work up the courage to speak. He took a deep breath finally, and went for it.

 

“So, um. There was something that I wanted to tell you,” he began. Jack nodded encouragingly, frowning a tiny bit. “This wasn’t something I was actively hiding from you or anything. I guess it didn’t really seem relevant, but it came up with the other guys a few weeks ago and I guess it feels… unbalanced, that they know and you don’t. And I don’t really tell a lot of people but, um. I’m gay. And, uh, trans.” Jack’s eyes widened a bit in surprise.

 

“Okay. So you’re a gay man?” he asked. Bitty nodded. “Alright. Thank you for telling me, I appreciate that you trust me.” He took a sip from the mug in front of him and his face immediately twisted. He glared at the mug as if it’d offended him. “Euh that’s… I think that one’s yours.” Bitty burst out laughing, looking at the coffee in front of him. Jack took a bit of milk in his coffee but it definitely wasn’t as light as the sweet latte he’d gotten. He look a sip out of that mug, wrinkling his nose at the bitter taste before giggling again and handing the mug over.

 

“There, now we’re even,” he said, taking his own. Jack rolled his eyes but his smile gave him away. As their conversation started up as effortlessly as always, Bitty felt a weight lift from his shoulders and the warmth in his heart grow that much stronger. 

* * *

 

Bitty sighed, throwing the stack of flashcards down on the table, cursing under his breath. He was about to pick them back up when he heard chuckling at his side.

 

“French, eh? Having some trouble?” Bitty glared half-heartedly up at Jack.

 

“I’m learning two languages at the same time, you can save the chirps, Mr. Zimmermann,” he replied haughtily, stuffing his cards in his bag and getting his laptop out. “I have a quiz later tonight, and I _think_ I’ll be okay, but I got to class a bit early and decided to look over my vocab. I know french would be helpful for baking, but good lord I just can’t get it. At least sign language makes sense.”

 

“Do you want some help? I could tutor you like Rans is tutoring you in ASL. I’ve been told I’m a pretty good teacher,” Jack offered, pulling Bitty’s flashcards out of his bag and looking at them. Bitty huffed a bit but let him.

 

“You speak french?” Bitty asked. Jack gave him an incredulous look.

 

“Bien sûr que ouais, je viens de Montréal,” Jack replied fluently, not looking up from the flashcards. “I have an accent, Eric. Where did you think I was from?” Bitty blushed.

 

“I don’t know? I didn’t think about it. But um, if you’re really offering, that would be wonderful. I’ll bake you any pie you want, and I won’t let any of the boys touch it, I swear,” Bitty promised. Jack smiled a bit, but Professor Atley started class before he got a chance to reply.

 

Bitty learned several days later exactly why Jack earned his captaincy his sophomore year. He was endlessly patient, focused, and excellent at keeping Bitty on task. He’d taken Bitty’s phone right off the bat, and was quizzing Bitty.

 

“Come on, my name is Eric Bittle,” Jack said. Bitty sighed.

 

“Uh, okay. Je… je ah-pel Eric Bittle,” he tried, brow furrowed. Jack shook his head a bit.

 

“Close. ‘Je m’appelle Eric Bittle’. Say it with me, slowly,” they repeated this over and over, Jack always staying calm and consistent no matter how irritated Bitty got. And, slowly, it got easier. They started having tutoring sessions once a week for a couple hours, and Jack realized almost immediately that Bitty focused better with something in his hands. They had been in the kitchen at the Haus, and Jack told him to wait right there. He returned a few minutes later with a small plastic cube, with buttons and switches and spinny parts all over it. “It’s a fidget toy,” Jack explained, showing him all the different things on it. “They help me a lot when I start to get overwhelmed, I almost always have one with me, when I got diagnosed with autism my mom did some research and found out they can really help.” Bitty turned it over in his hand, trying out the little features. When it improved Bitty’s concentration Jack told him to keep it, claiming he had several. Bitty’s heart felt fit to burst, and on impulse he hugged Jack for the first time. Jack seemed surprised, but hugged back with an enthusiasm that made Bitty melt.

* * *

 

“This is ridiculous!” Bitty grumbled, crossing his arms dramatically. Jack just smiled patiently.

 

“Once more. Tu peux le faire.” Bitty glared at him, but was internally proud of recognizing the encouragement. Jack tried to insert more and more casual French into their sessions, and Bitty had to admit it was helping.

 

“Okay. Je suis, tu es, il est. Um, elle est, nous… sommes? And, uh, vous êtes,” Bitty listed. The pronunciation was shaky at best, but more or less correct. Jack grinned at him.

 

“Exactly! Good job. I think you’ll be fine for your exam, you’ve gotten a lot better. Let’s end for the night. Do you want some pie?” Bitty knocked his hand away from the tin, cutting two slices of the maple apple himself and putting them in the toaster oven. Jack poured them each a glass of milk and set them on the table while Bitty put the slices on plates and brought them over. They ate in silence for a minute before Jack cleared his throat.

 

“So, Ransom and Holster told me you don’t want to be set up for Screw,” Bitty looked at him surprised.

 

“Oh, yeah, well. I don’t really like outing myself to just anyone, and some people don’t react well to finding out they’re on a date with a trans person. I’ve heard enough horror stories. I’m not too worried about it, not going isn’t the worst thing,” Bitty lied. He had really missed going last year, his friends telling him all about their adventures. Maybe going stag would be fun.

 

“So, if you knew the guy and were already out to him, you’d be willing to go with him?” Jack asked, his hand moving in his pocked in a way that told Bitty he was playing with his cube.

 

“Um, I mean, potentially, I guess? It would still depend on who,” Bitty said slowly.

 

“Would you like to go to Screw with me?” Jack asked simply. Bitty just stared at him dumbfounded for a second. Surely he heard wrong.

 

“As… as friends?” he asked hesitantly. Jack shifted in his seat a bit.

 

“I mean, if you want. I, euh, was hoping maybe as a date?” he looked so nervous, Bitty just wanted to hold him.

 

“Oh my goodness, Jack. Yes, yes of course. I didn’t… I thought you were straight?” As much as Bitty wanted to believe that Jack wouldn’t be like that, he couldn’t help but be afraid that Jack saw him as “close enough to a girl” to date or something, but Jack shook his head.

 

“It’s… I’m not really sure? Exactly? I’m… Shitty says it’s called demisexual. And I’m not really sure if I’m gay or bi beyond that. I definitely like boys, though. I definitely like you,” Bitty felt himself blush. He was pretty sure his heart was trying to pound out of his chest.

 

“I definitely like you too, lord,” Bitty told him, moving closer. “I like you a lot. I um, can you… Can I kiss you?” Jack’s eyes got comically wide, and he quickly nodded. They leaned in slowly, each giving the other plenty of opportunity to back out. Bitty felt Jack’s warm palm on his cheek as they gently pressed their lips together, Bitty’s eyes falling shut. It was soft, and chaste, and over so quickly. So they did it again, and again, until they were giggling and chirping and Bitty somehow ended up in Jack’s lap and wondering how on earth his life could be like this.

* * *

 

“Mr. Zimmermann, what on earth do you think you’re doing?” Jack looked up from what appeared to be an attempt at making a snowman out of a small pile of flour, grinning sheepishly.

 

“You had it handled,” Jack said, squishing his project. He glanced outside, where snow was falling steadily. “Maybe we can make a real one later, eh?” Bitty snorted.

 

“You can take your large Canadian ass outside if you feel so inclined. I have thin Georgia blood, I’m much more suited to making the fancy hot chocolate you like so much. But not until we finish this project. Come here,” he set Jack to work weaving the pie crust into a thick lattice while he set out the ingredients for Jack’s rock cakes.

 

“Bits, I’m messing this up, look. I don’t know why you would trust me with this,” Jack complained, still working diligently at the lattice. Bitty went over to inspect it. It was a little crooked, but nothing that Bitty wouldn’t be able to straighten out before getting it in the oven. He put a hand on Jack’s shoulders and went up on his tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

 

“You’re doing just fine, it looks lovely. You’ve learned a lot, I’m impressed,” Jack paused what he was doing to lean over and give Bitty a quick peck on the lips.

 

“I had an excellent teacher. How long does this go in the oven for?”

 

“About forty-five minutes. By then we’ll definitely have all the rock cakes ready, and those are only in the oven for about fifteen minutes. Then we have a few hours to ourselves if you wanted to… you know…”

 

“Study your French?” Jack suggested. His tone was innocent but his subtle smirk gave him away. Bitty rolled his eyes and lightly smacked Jack’s ass.

 

“The only French I want involved is the kissing,” he muttered while he got out more mixing bowls. Jack burst out laughing, just barely managing to finish the lattice through his giggles. Bitty made some minor adjustments, and as soon as it was in the oven and the timer was set, he felt strong arms wrap around him from behind.

 

“Counter offer,” Jack murmured in his ear, “we go upstairs while the pie is baking, and deal with the cakes later.” Bitty turned around in his arms, and found himself immediately hoisted up in the air.

 

“You drive a hard bargain, I think I have to accept,” Bitty giggled as Jack peppered kisses all over his face before carrying him almost effortlessly up the stairs, ingredients immediately forgotten.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr at thesegayhockeynerds!


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